Two Psychic Readings in One Hour
I’ve always wanted to get a psychic reading, but I’ve held off because I’m petrified of self-fulfilling prophecies. I don’t want to freewheel off into some wackadoo self-fulfilling prophecy if it’s the wrong one! I want to self-fulfill the shit out of the right one, because it’s easier to swim with the current. Plus it takes forever to warm up the Donnybrook Audi Time Machine in order to correct major life-errors.
So. At last month’s Yelpapalooza 3.0, I opened my third, fourth, and fifth eyes (you didn’t know about those?) to the future with two psychics who were giving out free readings. You know, to pit them against each other in a battle royale to see who predicts the better future for me and if their futures conflict, thereby letting me know which one is a fraud (the one who predicts the crappier future, NATCH).
Okay, I’m going to need all of the Donnybrook writers to do earmuffs for a second. EARMUFFS! Okay. Okay. (whisper voice):
She told me to fire all of my writers.
She laid down first Tarot card. It said “The Fool.” And we’re off to a good start!
“Looks like you’re in that laid-back, easy-going, not serious, fun (and ten more adjectives for ‘slacker’) place in your life. Which is great, I admire that about you!” she said. That’s nice. Hearing that, I kind of wanted to rip my hair out. Working two jobs and all this extracurricular shitty shit and commuting two hours a day, this feels really carefree and easy-going!
Next she said, “What do you want to do?” (see: since you are currently not doing anything with your life)
“I want to just do my blog. Blogging all the time. I want to do the blog.”
“That’s not going to happen for you right now.”
It was really quick, like ripping off a bandaid. I respected that.
She laid down more cards. “Do you work with people?”
The writers are really just the first people I thought of because I LOVE THEM, but the important thing to remember here is I work with a TON of people who could potentially be what she’s about to say. And also just remember I LOVE MY WRITERS.
“Someone in this equation is messing it up for you,” she said. “They’re not the right fit. They’re ruining it.”
“Maybe I just haven’t found my voice yet?” I asked, because I am Madame von Humblepants.
“Nope! It’s not you. It’s someone else’s fault.”
I’d like to take a moment to note that any future failures I experience are gonna point right back to this here moment in time. It’s someone else’s fault. Thanks Psychic Lady!
The good news is she got some positive card at the end, and told me I was going to be successful! So there you go. She literally told me to call her after I fired all of my writers. Writers, don’t worry, I’m not going to fire you. I’m just going to ignore you until you leave. KIDDING! KIDDING!
I <3 U GUYZ!!!
Oookay, up next is Psychic #2.
Father Guido is convinced this psychic was entirely working on wardrobe cues. Did I mention that I was in costume this eve as a rockabilly biker zombie from hell? No? Oh, well it was at a Halloween-themed Yelp party.
“Wow! I feel your grandmother,” he said immediately.
“Oh, god. Is she alright?” I immediately thought of my living grandmother, and if he was “feeling” her, then what realm was she in?
“Yes yes she’s fine, but she is still sending you messages of love.”
Wardrobe cue: Father Guido thinks he was responding to my old timey, vintage hairstyle here (victory rolls). Girls who like vintage hairstyles must like their grandmothers?
“Have you experienced a loss recently?” he asked.
Sometimes there are generic things everyone can interpret happening in their lives, but thank god, there was no way I could make ‘loss’ fit in my recent past, on a major level at least. The only recent change in my life is I’ve gotten married. Everything else has stayed the same. I’m gonna stop talking so a bolt of lightning doesn’t strike me right now.
“No,” I say.
“Well, your grandmother is telling me that you shouldn’t be angry.”
My grandmother is the most curmudgeonly old crone I know. I mean, I don’t blame her! She’s old! It’s hard doing stuff! But when she came to my wedding, she barely talked except to say in a clipped Waloon accent, “Denver is an ugly city” and “I thought this was going to be a short walk. This is incredibly far.” (She was being pushed in a wheelchair.)
Wardrobe cue: Father Guido thinks he might have gotten an idea that I was angry from my rockabilly biker zombie from hell costume. I mean, I get angry in traffic sometimes, but don’t consider myself deeply angry, say, like a comedian or something.
In the end, my psychic guru told me that I needed an outlet for my anger, which he could provide at a price of course, and involved Reiki and some sort of chimes or chanting or something.
Look. Look. I’m a logical person, but I want to believe in psychics and Santa and chakra cleansing as much as the next guy. But I just didn’t feel it on this one. Not to mention that my pitting the psychics against each other didn’t quite work out like I’d hoped – their readings both predicted bad news and were mutually compatible, so I can’t choose the better one or rule just one of them out.
Next time? I will forgo the free psychic readings and pay my psychic top dollar for a more luxurious future.